


Ache

by glitchingscript



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Angst, i guess. jbm isn’t nice to himself, maybe angst we will see, mention of injury, reading my character study over them might help bit it is not mandatory lol, self deprecation, the egos and their various pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:37:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchingscript/pseuds/glitchingscript
Summary: To ache is to feel, but to feel is to ache.To feel pain is the ache of being alive.Y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶.̶.̶.̶





	1. Doctor, Doctor

Henrik groaned and rolled his throbbing shoulders, the twinge nagging at him like a fly you can't swat. He'd been sitting at his desk for hours, with nary a dent in his growing pile of paperwork. Being absent from the physical plane for nine months really gets you bogged down. There were so many distractions in his office, he thought. The cars driving down the road, the rain, the ticking of the clock on the wall. It was all pestering him, laughing at him for being in such a bad shape. He fixates on a piece of dust that falls from his ceiling fan and his eyes drift to that clock on the wall and... Oh...It is two in the morning. How long has he been here? How long has he been procrastinating?! 

The doctor stands angrily, his back and knees protesting wildly. It's stupid! Everything is! The papers, his pain, the cars, the rain, and the goddamned clock! In a burst of rage, he swipes his hand across the desk sending papers and pens flying. The clatter and crash of an empty mug hitting the floor are present at the front of his mind, bringing him out of his stupor. He flinches, glancing towards the door and praying to every god he can think of that he hadn't woken any of the others. He drops to the floor, wincing when he bumps against the desk chair. His hands busy themselves with piling the blue ceramic into a pile and the papers into another. Gingerly placing the ruined cup into the pockets of his lab coat, he straightens and rolls his shoulders once more. Ghosting to the corner of the room he tosses the cup into the trash and sighs, running his hand down his neck and making a face into the glass of the window. Good thing his neighbors are asleep, he thinks with a chuckle. 

He should probably go to bed.

He's going to bed. 

The house seems weird today...huh.

He makes his way to his bedroom, flitting from door to door to check for the steady breathing of good sleep. He nods to himself, everyone is accounted for. Upon entering his room, he flicks on the light by habit...and then panics again and looks down the hall for a stirred someone. He shakes his head. He is too paranoid. Turning the light back off he falls into bed, making himself a nice cocoon of blankets. With that, he drifts off. A dreamless sleep. A peaceful one...

...there is a lingering, faint static coming from the hall though. How strange.


	2. Father of Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase has a nagging, static-filled headache.

Chase woke to rain, loud and abrasive. The air smelled of ozone, not just from the lightning. He glances at the quivering mass of static in the corner and swings his feet over the edge of the bed, red pulsing in the edges of his vision. 

"Feel free to come along, you know I can't stop you." The father says with a wave of his arm, beckoning to the figure in the corner. 

It won't come. It never does. It just watches. 

Chase pads his way to the kitchen, glancing into the rooms of the other egos as he goes. All asleep. Good. One is missing, as per usual. He reaches his destination and busies himself with making the morning coffee, ignoring the buzzing in his head. 

"Make extra, Chase, Henrik has work tomorrow." He mumbles, running through the process in his head. 

At least it didn't spark...again, he thinks. Funny...the machine is brand new. Oh well. The thought of getting something for himself flits through his mind but he ultimately decides against it, Marvin would be upset. He chuckles, low and raspy. Marvin usually doesn't care about his well-being unless it involves something the mage himself doesn't partake in. Hypocrite. He's to busy to care. 

He sets the coffee pot on a timer and starts back to his room, only stopping outside a bedroom to hear the sound of a window closing. Huh. The hero returns, he thinks. Funny...very funny. Running away during the day, when they actually need him and returning like a coward in the night. Nice joke, Jackie. The static shifts in his mind, going from a buzz to a low hum. Not as bad, but still enough to be annoying. 

He returns to bed, the figure in the corner still present. Chase sits down and runs both his hands down his face with a sigh. The figure sets its frequency higher, clawing for attention. Chase ignores it, lifting the side of his lip in a snarl. As he makes himself comfortable, the figure glides toward him, stopping beside the nightstand. It blows the dim bulb in the lamp and leans down, something similar to a face mere inches away from Chase's own.

"Shut up." Chase says, snarl deepening. 

The figure laughs, sending jolts down Chase's nose. It returns to its spot in the corner, making a few thumps along the wall for good measure. 

It won't be here tomorrow night. It will be with another, but for now...it watches.


	3. Superman

Jackie scrubs at the mocking redness staining his fingers with a grimace. Another crooked stitch job, another crime failed to solve. The doctor will be upset. 

He can deal with it.

There’s a presence behind him, more mocking than the blood. The static draws nearer, as to say “good job, hero” or “look what you couldn’t do” 

Jackie sinks to his knees, the water running far too hot over his already raw hands. His eyes dart back and the figure moves back, never taking form. The hero’s eyes drop, patronizing tears threatening to fall. 

The static fades, it’s work done and Jackie pulls his hands from the scalding water. The tears slip, stinging in the marks of his failure. He’s not strong enough. Never will be. The others know and pity him. 

He picks himself up and wanders his way to the living room, not daring to walk the hall in fear of waking anyone else. A light flickers from a streetlamp outside. He falls to the couch, tears still falling. 

The static returns, settling near his feet. Jackie pries his eyes open and stares at the offending mass of energy and eyes, the fine hair raising at the name of neck. The figure wins the contest, as it always does and Jackie covers his head with a blanket in a feeble attempt to soothe the buzzing that seeps into his thoughts. 

He waits and the energy ghosts closer, near his head. He finds himself tired. Just before he drifts into restless sleep, he hears, static-filled and spine chilling.

“Coward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re back lads


End file.
